


Come Fly with Me

by snrise



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Coincidences, F/M, Flying, Holiday, Learning about the past, New York, Ohio, Opening Up, Photography, Siblings, Writing, airport, blizzard, delayed flights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:37:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snrise/pseuds/snrise
Summary: While dreading visiting his family for the holidays, brooding Jughead Jones finds himself softening for a young woman with green eyes. The two unexpectedly find each other in a crowded airport on Christmas Eve; their journeys more similar than they think.





	Come Fly with Me

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [Annie](http://diokomen.tumblr.com) for being my wonderful Beta. Without you, this story wouldn't be successful. You are amazing.
> 
> I give you my first story, Come Fly with Me. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.

_Flight 237 is now boarding to Atlanta_

Jughead hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder as he stepped out of the taxi.

“Thank you,” He said with faux cheer to the driver, grabbing his slick leather camera bag and compact suitcase.

“Merry Christmas Eve! Have safe travels,” the taxi driver countered with enthusiasm.

Much to his disdain, Jughead Jones was going home for Christmas. While the familiar backroads and favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants were always his favorite aspects of home, his family was not one of them. Sure, he missed the hell out of his folks, but not what they fabricated for the holidays. Sickenly influenced by the cheerful society around them, his parents attempted to create the image of a perfect family. His dad pretended he didn’t have a drinking problem, his mom came home and acted like she never left with his sister when Jughead was eight--they’ve kept up the performance up for years. Every Christmas was like this.The house was decorated in fading yellow lights, the same thick green garlands suffocated the hand rails, and the obvious plastic tree sat in the corner with ornaments made of dried glitter glue and elementary school pictures of both him and his sister. The stage was set. The narrative was the same every year. It started with his dad promising he’ll sober up, his mom agreeing and staying with him. It lasted a week. And then, with the finale, his mother left in the early morning, before Jughead could even beg her to stay. The facade was revolting, Jughead was over it. He managed to stay in New York with his roommate, Archie, for the past two years. They would stay in and play video games, go visit the Andrews’ house, and go back home to eat the leftovers. But after this past Christmas, Jughead knew he had to see his parents. Not only did he feel as if he was burdening Archie, but he felt like something was pulling him back to Ohio. Maybe it was because he had extreme artists’ block, or even his breakup--

Jughead briefly shut his eyes, moving his mind away from his thoughts. He walked into the large airport, the scene buzzing with family members.

“Gotta love traveling during Christmas,” he muttered.

  
Jughead looked towards the ticket kiosks and headed for his airline, hoping it wouldn’t take long. He was disappointingly met with two very long lines, separated with the heavy rope barricades. Sighing, he took his place behind a middle-aged business man who was frantically speaking on his phone. Jughead pulled out his phone, noticing the two messages.

 **Archie**  
Hey bro, you doing alright? We’ll miss you this year!

Jughead smiled at his message. Archie had been his friend since they met at NYU orientation the summer before college started; their opposing personalities unexpectedly clicking. He was loyal, friendly, and honest. Jughead could always depend on Archie for anything; the thought of not being with his newfound brother over the holidays upset him.

**Jughead**

Yeah man, I’m good. Made it to the airport. Like you said, the lines are crazy. Hopefully I don’t drown in a sea of people.

**Archie**

At least you’re a good swimmer. Haha

**Archie**

I think I’m gonna bring Ronnie with me to meet dad this year

The line slowly moved in front of Jughead. He lingered behind the man in front of him, still on the phone. Jughead liked Ronnie. She was a bit high maintenance and dramatic at times, but she possessed a loyal heart of gold. Just like Archie. The thought of her finally meeting Fred--a very rare moment for Archie’s girlfriend’s--warmed his heart. He was happy for his friend, but there was a part of Jughead that longed for that type of intimacy.

**Jughead**

That’s great. Tell her happy holidays for me.

Jughead shoved his phone back into his pocket and scanned the crowds in front of him; one of his favorite pastimes was people watching, right after building up his photography portfolio. He figured it would be risky to do the latter, so he settled for observing the individuals in front of him. He saw a young mother and father struggling to contain two rowdy kids, silently praying that they wouldn’t be on the plane he would be getting on. He saw a young boy, probably about fourteen, scared out of his boots as he searched for something; most likely he was a first time flyer. There were many older couples, some dressed in beach hats and hawaiian shirts, probably preparing for the juxtaposing weather down south.

Jughead thought to himself how odd airports were. An interconnected base for transporting thousands of individuals in flying vessels, all going somewhere different. Every person had their own destination, but no one else would ever know. There were too many people to ask, ‘How will this airport be of service to you?’ Jughead was scanning his eyes through the crowd, thinking about pulling his headphones out to pass the time; then he saw her. A young woman, probably in her early twenties, standing about five feet away from him. Her golden hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her full rose-tinted lips pulled in a soft line, her unknown-colored eyes darting across her phone, most likely reading something. She had a small, pink suitcase by her side. Her free hand draped across the handle, patiently waiting for the line to move, just as he was doing. She was wearing a white peacoat which complimented her skin, pulling out a red tint from her cheeks. He examined her, and instantly, most likely from feeling Jughead’s eyes on her, the young woman lifted her head up and met his eyes, gently smiling.

“Excuse me, sir,” a small voice croaked. It was the teenager Jughead saw moments before, looking more frightened. Jughead turned around, breaking his contact with the intriguing blonde woman,

“Is this line for Frontier?”

“Uh…” Jughead’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked at the signs over the unending series of counters, making sure he himself was in the correct line,

“Actually, no. Frontier is in the next line over,” he gestured over to the growing line.

“Oh man!” The young boy awkwardly exited the line behind Jughead and raced to his correct airline.

Jughead’s head snapped back to where the young woman was, hoping to mend the connection but was now farther in line and out of his eyesight. He moved a few inches forward, hopefully getting another view of her. She was beautiful. She had an aura around her that emitted positivity. Her soft smile appeared genuine; her eyes crinkled up and narrowed as her smile grew. To his disappointment, he didn’t get to see the color of them. He sighed to himself, figuring she would be getting on a different plane, and he wouldn’t see the young woman again. To get through the line, Jughead opted for his headphones and scrolling through social media.

...

“Next!” The old woman at the desk shouted at Jughead. Frantically pulling out his headphones, he pulled his suitcase to the edge of the counter.

“Name?” The same woman asked without looking up at him, peering at the computer screen in front of her.

“Jones,” his voice croaked, “Forsythe Jones,” Jughead cleared his throat. Amused, her eyes flashed up at him, over her glasses.

“Identification?” She held out her hand. Jughead bashfully pulled out his wallet and handed her his driver’s license, taking off his crowned beanie.

“Your flight is delayed, Mr. Jones,” she spit out, her lips pursing into a line.

“For how long?” Jughead breathed.

While the idea of spending Christmas with his parents didn’t excite him, the thought of spending the night in the airport didn’t spark his interest either.

“Probably until tomorrow morning,” she impatiently handed the flimsy plastic card back to the tall young man.

“Heavy snowfall just started in Ohio. You may be here for a while. Next!”

Jughead sighed and put his hat back onto his head, bitterly walking towards TSA.

...

“Damn security,” muttered Jughead.

After being put in a horrible mood by the news of his flight being delayed, he was shoving his laptop and camera supplies back into their bags. He awkwardly sat down on the bench with his overflowing belongings in his arms to put on his shoes. He shoved his feet into his boots and placed his infamous crowned beanie on his head, eager to find a comfortable place to rest. While he couldn’t bear to abandon his long-time friend, it was a pain to constantly take the hat off when there were metal detectors, due to the two pins that sat on his forehead. He pulled the ticket out of his back pocket and looked for the gate number, 38 A. He got up, double checked all of his belongings, and set off to find his new home for the night. He looked towards the signs, making sure he was going in the right direction. He noticed it was one of the last terminals in the entire airport.

“How fitting,” he groaned, placing his headphones in his ears. As he slowly advanced through the airport, he noticed the immense Christmas decorations and overpriced airport shops. He saw mothers and children together, many of them begging for gifts or toying with numerous items they weren’t allowed to touch.

He did miss his mom. When he was younger, she picked him up every two weeks to spend time with her. They often went to the park, his favorite diner, and if Jughead was good, a small antique shop that was nestled in between a large pink boutique and a candy shop. While most children would go for the immense candy collection next door, young Jughead opted for the old, decaying dusty shop. Inside, it seemed like an entire new universe. There were hundreds of silver spoons, fading vintage comics, hand-stitched quilts, rusting machines--and Jughead’s favorite: the cameras. From a young age, Jughead was entranced with the large black boxes that had numerous levers, dials, and lenses. He was eager to discover what they would uncover. After Jughead’s teary eyes and loving pleas, his mother gave into the boy’s desires. He was eager to learn more about the devices that he would eventually make art with, and researched his new hobby immensely. From elementary school to middle school, his afternoons and weekends consisted of researching film and the correct cameras he would need. By the time he was sixteen, he was building a career off of senior portraits, photography contests, and film festivals. He was in love with the art of photography. He thanked his mom for giving into his newfound hobby by often making her the center of his works when he was experimenting with lighting. While his crafted world of film, prints, and photography provided him with a safe haven; he could never understand why his world of art couldn’t be his real world. He often asked his mother why she left his dad, and often responding with “He just isn’t who he used to be.”

Jughead’s thought process was interrupted by a loud grumble coming from his stomach. He remembered he was so busy packing, he forgot to pick up dinner. He peered at the surrounding restaurants and spotted a small cafe that appeared inexpensive, but fulfilling. Jughead interrupted his path to his gate to get in the line of the shop; noticing a long line of people were ahead of him. He sighed, thankful for his headphones cancelling out the noise of the bustling airport.

He waited in line, concentrating to the lyrics of his music when he was softly tapped on his shoulder. He was tired of being interrupted. Jughead audibly huffed and took an earbud out, roughly turning around and scolding the person behind him with cold eyes.

“Sorry...but, your bag is open. It looks like there’s expensive lenses in there and I wouldn’t want any of that to be stolen if it were mine,” the mesmerizing blonde beauty said cautiously, confused at his facial expression.

Jughead’s eyes widened, attempting to erase his face of contempt at the girl in front of him. He pulled his leather bag off and zipped it up, his face growing red.

“Uh...thanks. I-uh-appreciate it,” he sheepishly said, pulling the bag back onto his body and avoiding the woman’s eyes.

“Don’t mention it,” she chuckled and examined Jughead’s face, only making his cheeks grow warmer.

He faced forward, making an extreme effort to focus on the menu board above the cashiers. His mind clouded with the image of her face, still trying to place the color of her eyes in his head--most likely beautiful, just like the rest of her. Out of impulse, he swiftly rotated on his heels.

“I’m sorry about giving you that look, I’ve just been frustrated with holiday travel and all...I just...I’m sorry,” Jughead pleaded, looking at her face. The blonde tilted her head and smiled at him,

“It’s okay, I understand. No worries.”

“Forsythe,” he held out his hand, “But people call me Jughead.”

She looked down at his hand, and back into his eyes, seeming to question his motives,

“Elizabeth,” she met her palm with his, “But people call me Betty.”

_Green._

…

“So what brings you to this hell hole of public transportation?” Jughead inquired to the woman after he overheard her order a medium chai latte and blueberry muffin.

“Oh you know, travelling home for the holidays,” she stared up at the man, not sure what to think of him. “I’m assuming it’s the same for you?” she offered a genuine smile.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

The silence grew awkward between them, but her smile endured.

“So you live in New York?” Jughead toyed with his black curl; a nervous tick he never grew out of.

“Mmhm,” the woman hummed, “I go to Barnard, majoring in English with a concentration in creative writing. You?”

“NYU! I’m double majoring in Business and Photography,” he said. “My sister is actually looking at Barnard for English too but she’s also interested in Film.”

“I love the English department there. How old is she?” she asked.

“Fifteen. She’s definitely a planner,” he chuckled at the thought of his younger sister, Jellybean.

Because his mom left with her in tow, he only saw her every two weeks on the weekends. He missed her, not just because it was his sister, but because she seemed like the only person who understood the tragic ballad of their parents. She was forced to be mature at too young an age, going through more heartbreak than any child should endure.

“Jughead…?” the cafe employee yelled out as a question. “Uh...excuse me,” Jughead pardoned himself to receive his order, gesturing towards his suitcase for Betty to watch it.

Betty’s eyes squinted at the mysterious young man walking away from her. He was kind, she found out, after the stoney stare he gave her both in the line for tickets and for the cafe. He seemed to have a chilly outside with a fiery core. His demeanor was hard, pressed, and rehearsed...but as he spoke about his little sister, his eyes sparkled and flickered. At first, she was hesitant to share more about herself, let him deeper into her life. Betty didn’t know what to expect from him. Yet the small fire she saw from his soul intrigued her. Betty wanted to know more about him, and in return, he could know more about her.

“Besides,” Betty whispered, “I’ll never see him again after tonight.”

“Yours was ready, so I grabbed it,” Jughead bashfully said as his hands overflowed with brown paper bags and two coffee cups.

“Oh, thank you,” Betty held out her hands for her items, which Jughead awkwardly pushed his chest towards her as well as his hand with her latte. Betty threw her head back and laughed at the action, spurring up Jughead’s own smile. Her laugh was full and bright, making a pool of heat arise from his stomach. The two looked at each other, silently admiring each other’s beauty. Jughead wanted to know more than just where she goes to school, her studies, and her love for blueberry muffins. He looked into her grass colored eyes, seeking something behind them. which were mesmerizing, but the sorrow that was transparent behind them.

“I uh...I was planning to eat this here, if--if you want to join me,” Betty blushed, averting her gaze away from Jughead’s eyes.

“I would be glad to,” Jughead grinned, hoping to find out more about this girl in front of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr!](https://snrise.tumblr.com)


End file.
